


Chapter 3

by mariesondetre



Category: True Detective
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 08:56:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariesondetre/pseuds/mariesondetre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a clumsy addition to Dienda's work, a totally self-indulgent daydream of what happens after the end of What Is Simple. Please don't hesitate to point any language mistake, as english isn't my native language. It's certainly full of obvious syrupy tropes, but I'm a big old sentimental fangirl, what can I say.<br/>I'd also like to thank the entire True Detective fandom for writing great fics and being generally a bunch of sweethearts. Everything is post-Carcosa Rust and Marty and nothing hurts!</p>
    </blockquote>





	Chapter 3

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [[translation]Chapter 3](https://archiveofourown.org/works/8443054) by [hieroglyphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics)
  * Inspired by [What is simple](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2482178) by [Dienda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dienda/pseuds/Dienda). 



> This is a clumsy addition to Dienda's work, a totally self-indulgent daydream of what happens after the end of What Is Simple. Please don't hesitate to point any language mistake, as english isn't my native language. It's certainly full of obvious syrupy tropes, but I'm a big old sentimental fangirl, what can I say.  
> I'd also like to thank the entire True Detective fandom for writing great fics and being generally a bunch of sweethearts. Everything is post-Carcosa Rust and Marty and nothing hurts!

When Rust enters the kitchen, he sees Marty at the stove, his back at him. The thought passes through him that Marty's trying to save himself a second surprise by not watching him come.  


He touches to tip of his fingers to Marty's nape and whispers in his familiar low tone: “Care to try and feel the difference then?”  


Marty turns with smiling eyes and a look of joy on his face that Rust has never seen but looks as if it were his natural state, uncovered for the first time in like a century. He begins to study his partner, ready to make a comment, but Rust just leans in and puts his mouth on his. To hell with it, he'll have years to watch his old face.  


This second kiss is gentle at first; Rust tries to put things in it he knows he won't be able to express otherwise in a long time, maybe never. But Marty's dominant nature soon kicks in and he has Rust pressed against the counter, licking into his mouth and unconsciously bucking his hips against the other man's upper thigh.  
Suddenly he realises what he's doing, and his stomach tightens.  


“Sorry, sorry.” He's about to take a step back, his hands up in the air, when Rust puts a firm hand on his butt.  
“What the fuck are you sorry for, man? If I didn't want it I'd just punch you in the nose.” He doesn't smile but his eyes twinkle enough to make it clear that everything is more than okay. “Now come on cow-boy, and I guess you probably should stop the burner under the pan if you don't want to burn the kitchen down.”

When they've settled almost carefully on the bed – fuck it, they aren't teenagers anymore –, Marty can't even think about the implications of what they're doing, he has so many things to touch and feel : Rust's short hair, Rust's arms, with their hard muscles rolling under his fingers, Rust's shirt that needs to come out of the way as well as his belt, his hair again because damn it's like he's ten years younger like this...  


Rust lets him fidget with everything for a moment, but he's never been very patient with trivial circumstances; he's not going to wait for a romantic effeuillage or some shit like that. So after a few minutes he moves back a little and start undoing his own shirt buttons. “Just take everything off already,” he says to Marty with a small nod and a look at his clothes. 

During the last months, Rust has wandered around the house in various states of undress, but Marty has only seen him stark naked those first few days after the hospital, when he helped him in the shower, and at the moment he'd had more important things on his mind than erotic thoughts – like how not ripping out those ugly black stitches, or not stumbling and throwing them both on the wet floor. But now Rust's slender body is exposed in front of him, all the more handsome with the few pounds he's put on, being fed regularly three meals a day. He's aged, of course, he's been almost broken and it shows on him, but Marty has too, he doesn't care about it. The marks on his body even make Marty love him more, he thinks, and when the word appears in his mind, it surprises him. Then he shrugs internally at his own obliviousness, and closes the space between their bodies.  


If there are some small awkwardnesses, if hands are a bit clumsy and mouths sometimes fall in the wrong place, no one cares. The moment is theirs only.

Marty really wants to watch Rust's face when he comes, as if it could reveal something, unwrap a little bit of the mystery of this strange human being. But the exhilarating feeling of another man's – of Rust's – dick pulsing in his hand pushes him over the edge, and all he can do is hear a choked cry against the side of his neck, something that sounds like his name. The pleasure that surges through him seems new and almost pure.

When he opens his eyes again he sees the pink scar on Rust's belly, moving slowly with his breathing and covered in drying come, translucent and sticky. He thinks he wants to do this again and again until it washes the fucking memory of the blood pouring from the wound. Maybe it's the only thing that could be able to make him forget. Or maybe the idea of sperm washing blood away is just a side effect of having sex with Rustin Cohle for the first time. He chuckles to himself.  
Rust looks at him from under his eyelids. He seems lost in another spacetime.  


“You okay?” Marty asks.  
“Mmh. There was a taste... I can't put my finger on what it was...” Suddenly his eyes open wider. “The rivers in Alaska...”  
Marty frowns a bit. “That must be cold.” He only whispers, not wanting to disturb Rust's thoughts.  
“No, the rivers in summer... the short summers in Alaska, the only moment of the year when I finally was comfortable, the bloody cold easing off for a few weeks... I spent my time by the river, half naked to enjoy the warmth on my skin as much as I could...” His voice fades out. After a short pause, his eyes focus on Marty's face again, and he says in a firm, definite tone: “Your hands on me taste like the best days of my childhood, Marty.” It's almost like an accusation, but Marty's cheeks blush a bit, because he can see the reflection of words that aren't pronounced.  


Who knows, maybe his brain has been damaged as well, but the _I love you_ shines bright in front of his eyes.


End file.
